Brendan walked into the PE staff room and slumped in his chair, stretching out tracksuited legs.
‘You look shattered, Brendan. It feels like we’ve been back forever, doesn’t it? Never mind, it’ll be Christmas soon.’ Penny Wray picked up a baguette, which was thoroughly wrapped in cling film, and threw it across towards him, a perfect shot. ‘I saved you this one: it’s brie and cranberry.’
Brendan opened the end of the bread and took a bite, pulling a piece of the plastic film from his mouth and then chewing the sandwich thoughtfully. ‘Thanks, Penny – great.’
‘Long morning, Brendan?’ It was Tony Azikiwe, who dropped into the seat opposite him, his shorts riding up to his thighs. He was the new sports teacher for rugby – fit, huge-chested, shaven-headed except for a few little dreadlocks which dangled across his brow. Kevin Fearon had commented on it this morning, as Brendan collected in the Beckett homework. ‘Mr Azikiwe’s cool, Sir. He is cooler than you are.’ Brendan had grinned. ‘He’s cooler than all of us,’ he’d said, and then he’d told the class to open Waiting for Godot at page twenty-two.
Brendan gazed out of the window. They were well into October already and the weather was becoming chilly. He chewed his baguette and thought how muddy it would be with thirty kids out on the pitch in this rain. Penny sat comfortably beside him and patted him on the shoulder. ‘How’s it all going, Brendan?’
He nodded and mumbled, ‘OK.’
‘All’ meant that she knew he had not seen Maura for almost six weeks now and he had not heard from her directly, although his mother sent regular updates about the pregnancy. She told him over the phone about the vineyard, how they were beginning to harvest the grapes, and the pauses in her speech showed how badly she was missing Jean-Luc. Brendan sighed. He should be there now, with both of them. He looked at his trainers, spattered with mud, at the jog bottoms he had worn for over a week without washing them. He wasn’t taking proper care of himself, and he felt guilt seep into his lungs. He came to school in badly creased shirts, stained sports tops, and his face was often covered with little cuts from careless shaving. There had been no-one home to tell him off when he stuck little pieces of tissue over the nicks. There was just the incessant silence. His reflection in the mirror each morning was tired and a little unkempt. He threw down his half-eaten baguette, still wrapped in cling film, and Tony Azikiwe seized his chance.
‘Don’t you want this, Brendan?’
In twenty minutes the klaxon would sound for the afternoon’s lesson. It was football outside, on the all-weather pitch. Rain hit the window and ran down in wiggly ribbons; outside the sky was battleship-grey.
Penny put her legs up on the table; they were still brown against her white socks and pink trainers. ‘They have shortlisted the candidates for my job here,’ she announced. ‘There are three women: two newly qualified teachers and a woman in her late twenties. They’ll be in next week to look around. You must meet them.’
She met Brendan’s eyes and he hoped she was not matchmaking. Tony Azikiwe stared at her directly.
‘It’s a shame you’re leaving so soon, Penny. I’ve only just got here.’
Her laughter was the tinkle of a little bell. ‘Sure, we can keep in touch, Tony. My new school is only on the other side of the city. We’ll all keep in touch, will we?’
Tony gave a hopeful grin and finished the last piece of brie sandwich. Brendan picked up his briefcase and rooted around inside for his lesson notes. He found his copy of Yeats’ poetry and some marking he had to finish this evening. He wondered why he was looking forward to going home. The house would be empty.
It was almost dark when he arrived. It was after six o’clock and his briefcase was heavy. Inside the house it was cold: he had forgotten to reprogramme the heating again and he wondered if it was worth putting it on now. He would have an early night. He felt a dull ache in his stomach and a growling of digestive juices: he hadn’t eaten much during the day. He went into the kitchen and opened the cupboards one after the other, finding a tin of baked beans, another of tuna, some salt and a packet of soup. He stood still for a moment and decided he would go to the supermarket, maybe call in for chippers on the way back.
An hour passed during which he traipsed around the supermarket aimlessly, buying biscuits, tins of sardines and cocoa and other things he didn’t really like. Shopping for one made Brendan’s head hurt. The rain was heavy when he stopped the Panda in the driveway. The lights were on inside the house and he blinked momentarily and rubbed his forehead. He heaved the three bags of shopping into one hand and the chippers and cod in their hot wrapper in the other, and he struggled towards the front door. It was open. He had definitely locked the door before he left. It was all getting to him and he closed his eyes for a moment and felt weary. The handles of the bags were taut and digging into his fingers, leaving deep red marks.
Inside, the room felt a little warmer; he could not remember turning the heating on. He was losing his mind a little; perhaps it was the loneliness, and now he performed one task after another, like an automaton, giving it no thought. He locked the door, hung up his car keys, took off his coat, put the bags in the kitchen, on the worktop, and picked up the battered fish in paper, taking a bite.
He could smell perfume, a soft, woody smell, not unpleasant, and when he turned round, Maura was standing in the doorway. She wore a loose flowery tunic top that hung away from her body, although she did not look any bigger. Her face was calm and there was a soft glow in her eyes. Brendan felt a familiar lurch in his chest. He pulled his hands into his sides and smiled shyly. She looked at him with the same smile he remembered from their first date. He went over to her and wanted to kiss her cheek but instead he stood and stared at her.
‘I didn’t know you were coming.’
‘I got a taxi from the airport.’
‘I’d have come and picked you up.’
‘I didn’t want to bother you.’
They were silent for a moment, and then she said, ‘Your chippers are getting cold.’
He fumbled for a plate, two plates. ‘Do you want to share them?’
‘I’m eating for two, Brendan. I’m trying to eat healthily now. Anyway, I had a meal on the plane.’
They sat on the sofa together, a space between them, and Brendan swallowed cold powdery potato. For a while there was no other sound other than his soft chewing. He put the plate down, the chips half-eaten, and sat back in the seat.
‘Well, Maura, how are you?’ The question felt silly as soon as he’d said it.
‘I’m fine. The babby’s fine. I have an appointment with the midwife tomorrow and I’m back at work next week, two afternoons a week.’
‘Oh.’
‘And I have a scan booked for Friday.’
Brendan wondered if he could ask if he could go along to the scan, after all he was the father. He thought about what to say to her, and he said, ‘That’s good.’
‘So, how about you? Can I ask about the interview?’
‘St Cillian’s?’
‘Yes. How did it go? Did you get the job?’
He examined her face. There was no judgement there in her expression, no hopefulness: she was just interested.
‘It was a nice school. Lovely children. The other teachers there were very friendly and the job would have been really interesting, pastoral work and that …’
Maura raised her eyebrows. He waited for her to say, ‘So you didn’t get the job?’ He expected her to interrupt, to ask him what went wrong, but she was looking at him. Her eyes were bright and clear, glowing with a steadiness that made Brendan catch his breath.
‘I withdrew. I told them the position wasn’t for me.’
She was surprised. ‘I thought you wanted to work at St Cillian’s? I thought you didn’t like it much where you are now.’
He ran his hands through his hair. ‘To be honest, Maura, St Cillian’s is another teaching job. I knew if I went there, I’d have to commit to five years, three at least. I couldn’t be sure I could do that with … well, I didn’t know what to do with us – with everything being as it is.’
Maura was twisting the rings on her finger. ‘We have some talking to do.’
‘We do, you’re right.’
‘Have you had time to think about it all?’
‘Yes. Have you?’
‘Yes. I have thought about it all the time.’
Brendan stood. ‘I’ll get us a cup of tea.’ He went to the kettle and busied himself with mugs, aware that he was putting off the conversation. He changed the subject, calling from the kitchen, ‘How was Mammy when you left?’
‘She seems OK, Brendan. Some days better than others. She misses Jean-Luc. She keeps herself busy; she’s learning French, and she’s started to go to yoga in Foix and she’s made a new friend or two there. She sees a lot of the O’Driscoll’s crowd, and Caroline and Nige. Then there’s a lot on with the grape harvesting and the wine-making at the minute.’
‘That’s good.’ Brendan was not sure if it was good or not. ‘Does she have plenty of support with the business over there?’
‘She has a team of men who helped out with the harvest. They’ve worked at Cave Bonheur before. They know the ropes. And Benji is always there.’
‘I’m sure it’s a good life to be had.’ He came in with two mugs and put them on the coffee table, flopping down on the sofa beside her. Maura was holding out a list.
‘She gave me this. Some books she wants us to send. Jean-Luc had copies in French and she wants us to get her the books in English and post them over.’
Brendan took the list and laughed. ‘Dostoyevsky, Camus, Kerouac, Lamartine? George Sand? Marcel Proust!’
Maura was serious; she laid a hand on his arm, touching his wrist with light fingers. ‘Does it still hurt?’
He shook his head. It had healed perfectly, aching only when he put too much weight on it. ‘Mammy’s put some money in our joint account. And some for the babby. I couldn’t stop her. She said she and Jean-Luc wanted to make us a little gift. I didn’t know what to say.’
Brendan drank his tea. It was hot and burned his mouth. Then he said, ‘I’ll ring her later. It would be nice to have a chat.’
It was quiet for a while. Brendan stared down at his feet. He was wearing odd socks.
‘So?’ Maura sat upright. ‘What about the elephant in the room?’
Brendan wriggled on the sofa. ‘Do you think we should think about putting the house on the market?’
Maura took a deep breath, her face flushed with anxiety. ‘So that’s it?’ She waited. ‘Is it over between us? Is it, Brendan? Is that what you’ve decided? We’ll sell the house and split everything up?’
He rubbed a fist in his eye and looked down at his knees. ‘That’s not what I meant. Is that what you want?’
She turned away. ‘You first.’
‘Maura,’ he began. ‘I mean … we’re having a baby. It’s possible the two of us could make it work. I – we – we’re going to be parents and maybe you and I could find a way to get on for the sake of—’
She was furious. ‘No, Brendan. For the sake of the baby? No. I don’t want that.’
‘No?’ He turned away from her and squeezed his eyes shut.
‘No. I’d rather be by myself and bring the child up alone than settle for being second-best, in a second-rate marriage.’
‘You think I’m second-rate?’
‘No.’ Her voice was insistent. ‘But you said that yourself. You said it just now. You suggested we make the best of it; we stay together for the sake of the child.’
He was silent. He wanted to tell her what was in his mind, in his heart, but the words wouldn’t come.
‘I care about you, Brendan, but I am no second-choice afterthought of a wife.’
He watched her as she spoke, her voice so determined, and he gave her a little watery smile. ‘I’m a fool.’
‘No-one’s disputing that.’ Her words were not without affection.
‘Maura, I have missed you.’ Her hair had grown and was loose around her shoulders. He thought of how they had first sat on the sofa in his parents’ old house, youngsters, green and silly, holding each other’s hands and waiting for Jim and Evie to leave the room. ‘I mean, I’ve been useless without you. I don’t just mean the practical things. I’ve missed you. It’s not about the baby and I don’t care about this house. I’ve no life without you, no soul. I’ve realised over these past six weeks or so how stupid I’ve been. I’ve let the woman I love slip through my fingers.’
A sigh caught in Maura’s throat. ‘We’ve both made mistakes, Brendan.’
‘What I said before … I didn’t mean that I wanted us to stay together just for the baby.’
‘What did you mean?’
‘I mean, I’m sorry. I’ve made a mess of things. We needed to talk and I just shut up, closed down. I didn’t help at all. I’m indecisive. I’m an awful communicator. I’ve been jealous, selfish, stubborn, and it’s cost me my beautiful wife. I miss you, Maura. I miss you so much it hurts to tell you.’ He looked down at his hands.
She swallowed. ‘I wasn’t any better, Brendan. I could be bad-tempered and controlling. I think I was frustrated. Things had got into a big rut.’
Brendan recalled her moods, her anger directed full force at him and his mother. It seemed a long time ago. He shook his head. ‘That’s not what I see when I look at you.’
‘What do you see?’
‘Someone warm, confident, happy. A woman who sparkles … the woman I love.’
A smile twitched on her lips. ‘And I see a lovely man, warm-hearted, affectionate, sweet-natured.’
He thought about holding her hand. ‘I’ve thought about you every day though. It’s been hard, waking up alone and wondering if I’d see you again. I mean, I thought you might stay in France. You seemed so happy there.’
Maura picked at her fingernails. ‘I was. It’s a completely different lifestyle and it suits me. I love it there. But you didn’t ring me. Or ask to talk to me when you rang your mammy.’
‘You told me not to.’ He looked at her and a grin broke on his face. ‘You said you needed time to think. I picked the phone up every night and thought about it. The same as I thought about ringing Mammy when we were trying to find her in France. It was easier to wait, to put things off.’
‘I love it there, though, Brendan. In France. The way of life suits me.’
Brendan squeezed his eyes shut. She was about to tell him she was going back to France. Perhaps she’d met someone. He grabbed her hand. ‘I’ve changed, Maura. I did what you said, thought about things, and now I know what I want.’
‘We’ve both changed a bit, haven’t we? We’ve had time to think about what’s important.’
‘Am I important?’ he asked her and she smiled.
‘Most important,’ she said. She looked lovely; her mouth curved gently in a smile.
He took her hand and put it in his lap. ‘We’ll make good parents, Maura.’
‘Do you think so?’ She sighed. ‘But it’s not enough, is it? We need to be good for each other.’
‘I want to be with you, though. You come first, baby or no baby. I love you, for who you are. You’re my wife. I want us to stay together.’
She thought for a moment. ‘What’s to stop us slipping back into a rut again? What if we stop appreciating each other?’
He looked at her from the corners of his eyes. ‘You’re happy in France, aren’t you?’
‘It’s a nice way of life. It’s beautiful there. Quiet, peaceful. It’s a slower pace.’
He glanced at her, watching her expression. ‘A good place to start again? A good place to bring up a baby?’
‘I’m not sure what you’re saying, Brendan. I thought you wanted to be with me.’
He took a deep breath. ‘Yes, I do, more than ever, but not here, not in this house. Maybe somewhere else, somewhere completely different.’
She looked puzzled. ‘What are you thinking of, Brendan?’
‘Well, we’ve been through a lot, you and me. So much happened this summer: Mammy, Jean-Luc, the babby, everything is different now. And I’m not sure I want to teach any more. I’m not sure I ever did. I want a life where we have time for each other, where we can grow together and have the space we need. I think we need to start again, not here, but from somewhere else. From somewhere we can grow together, like the grapes, warm in the sun.’
She breathed, ‘In France.’
‘Me and you.’ He took her hand. ‘It’s what we need, to be together again.’
Her hand tightened around his. Their eyes connected and held and they both remembered being the same shy teenagers, the future a fast breath in their chests.
Brendan leaned back on the sofa and she hesitated, then she rested her head on his shoulder and his voice was a whisper. ‘A fresh start, Maura. That’s what we need. A brand new beginning, for the three of us.’
Maura took both his hands. ‘That’s what I want, Brendan.’
‘Somewhere we can be ourselves and have some peace in our lives. Where we’re not chasing deadlines. Where we can make every moment count, be the people we really are without so much to keep us apart. Somewhere we can bring our child up and enjoy a different pace of life. I mean, we both know the ideal place, a home we can move straight into, somewhere we can work together and make a living …’
Maura’s face shone in the light and he saw tears gleaming, and he wiped them away with his fingers. He wrapped his arms round her, pulled her as tightly to him as he could and felt the warmth from her body seep into his and remind him he was alive. She kissed his lips and spoke quietly. ‘When will we go? Do you think Evie would mind?’
‘I’ll make a phone call tomorrow. I’m sure she’ll need a hand with the business now. I know she’d let us stay with her. Then when we’re up and running, when we’re all ready, we can still help her out, and maybe find our own little house nearby. Somewhere we’ll settle, happy together, doing what we want, just for us. Somewhere we can make our own future. Somewhere our baby can grow up in the countryside. Speaking French.’